you promised
by Flutterbydaiseys
Summary: an illness can kill a person. But it can't kill love.
1. Preface

**Preface.**

She had never felt like this before. Her heart beating so strongly, the feeling of pain.

Curled up in a feteous posistion, sobbing, her heart in her throat. The feeling her father tried to protect her from. Tears staining her cheeks, showing her weakness. Not acknoledging the person hudled over her, Trying to console her. Trying to take all the pain away. Trying to take away the acheing.

People around starting to worry. She's been invisble for a while. Not saying a word worth saying. Not making contact. Closed herself from the world, Breaking down a tiny bit everyday, Loosing sanity.

That night is nothing but a nightmare to her. To everyone. That night was when everybody's world fell to peices. That night was when everybody went missing. She lost everything, her heart included.

The smile gone, tears overpower any other show of emotion. Her mind not taking in the fact that people around her are trying to help.

Her heaving heart, overcome with the most acheing pain. Her soul crying.

Her soul, Is dead.


	2. the begining

Chapter 1- The beginning

They were happy. Everyone saw it in their eyes. They were smiling at every chance they got. They were laughing. They were the couple everyone wanted to be. Everybody knew they were going to last. They had to.

Nobody knew their secret. Nobody knew why they were taking every chance of their lives to make it happy and full of laughter. Nobody knew what was going on, Nobody knew of anything wrong.

They all thought they were just being a happy couple in love.

Nobody knew, that at any moment, anything could go wrong.

They had no clue, that she was barely living a life without pain. Or that he was ill. That he only had a limited time of existence left.

He vowed that that he would do anything in his power to stay for longer, He'd done exactly that. He promised he would be right next to her with any problems or faults. He promised her the world.

The time came. There he was, laying, weak in the bed he was born in, trying to pursued his lover of three and half years to sleep. A cold sweat drizzling down his forehead, past the deep furrowed frown of sorrow. The dreams quickly succumbing him, forcing him to close his eyes as he caught site of his mother; Dressed in her wedding robes, her auburn hair set in ringlet curls, Her lime green eyes sparkling. Coaxing his in to her arms, like when he was a little boy with a grazed knee. "I'm safe now, in my mother's arms" He whispered. He surrendered to the floating feeling he was engulfed in. The feeling that he was finally safe, asleep in his mothers arms.

* * *

It was Twelve at night. She had woken up when the warmth was suddenly cold. Like she was alone in their bed. No longer snuggled up to him with her knees tucked into his stomach, but huddled over his body forcing wretched sobs out of her mouth, tears running scars down her already broken heart.

The illness he had battled with for over two years, won. He fought with every cell he had. He agreed to any treatment, no matter how horrific. Just so he could see his love happy. He'd do anything for her, even stay alive if he could win the war. But it his mother pulled a stop to his suffering, surely she could forgive him.

"You promised!" She cried in to his frozen chest, her tears pooling at his once tanned chest. "You promised you'd fight this!"

Her heart clenching, causing a flash of pain to go through her body like an electric shock. Her sobs wracking her body so severely her voice was no longer heard, just a whisper of breath. She tried desperately to smell his scent. Scrounging through the dirty laundry, looking for his most recent worn shirt. Trying to get rid of the smell of death, and heartbreak.


	3. The Life, and diagnosis

Sitting up on Christmas Eve, watching happy films was always something we would do in the years we were together. He would skip about the house with a big grin his face, teasing me with wrapped up boxes as he made the trip to the Christmas tree from our bedroom many times before grabbing me around the waist and dragging to our bed, were he had set up my favorite sweet food on Christmas themed paper plates. We would talk about our past, and what we would improve on. Then our future and what we could do. Then we would snuggle up in the middle of our bed and watch films of Christmases that we'd dreamed of.

I would get up extra early in the morning and make him my special Christmas breakfast, then I would sit with him as he ate. We would shower together, slipping about in the soapy cubical. Getting dressed for the day, we would converse on what we would do, in the order we'd do them. Then we'd go into our living room and I'd sit on his lap as we exchanged gifts.

At twelve on the dot, I would start the Christmas Lunch. He would nit-pick at the Chicken I had started taking off of the bone and I would playfully slap his hand away. We'd sit down at the table, eating our lunch to the sound of Carols. He would start a play fight as I washed up, it always ended up with us making love.

When we had a nap, I would making cookies. He would help me, punching the cutters through the dough, and he would put them in the oven in case I would get burnt. He would get them out when they were done, and help me decorate them when they'd cooled down. He would help wrap them in foil as we got ready to visit family. Helping me pull my coat on as we made our way to the car.

He'd scoop his little sister up in his arms before peppering her with kisses against her will. He lived for that little girl. He would fly her around his mothers house when she asked him what Santa did the night before. She was the first person he'd say hello to when he entered the house, not even his Mother came before her.

He and his best friend would pester his mother as she made the Christmas dinner, dipping their fingers in all the sauces, testing if they were 'poisoned' and swiping the prawns out of the cocktails because they were 'still alive'. Then they'd go out to the court, and try and out do each other in a 'Christmas beat-down' of basketball. When they'd come in, all sweaty, they'd joke about showering together and slap each others butts whilst winking at each other.

His relationship with his mother was unbreakable. He would always stand by her side whilst she was taking things out of the oven, or serving the dinner. He would keep on her side of the argument when his parents argued, even if she was wrong. He'd make sure she was always smiling and laughing. He would make sure she had the last item in the store, even though someone else wanted it. He'd stick up for her when he was little, and the other parents would question her parenting. He would hug her from behind when she was washing up, waiting for her to finish so he could dry up for her. Before we'd go home, he would make sure she was safely tucked up in bed, a glass of water on her bedside along with a note, saying how much her love meant to him.

When we'd go home, He would call his father and thank him for helping him grow up to the man he was, and for the gift he'd received that morning. Then he'd lay back on our bed, and go through all the past Christmas memories they'd shared together. From the time they went out looking for pine cones to decorate for the tree, to the time when they went sledding through the town, not having a care in the word about the funny looks they'd gotten.

When he put the phone down, he would call me in to our room and ask me to dance to the music of our hearts beating in sync. Then he would lay me down and tell me about the Christmases he'd want to spend with me and our unborn children. We'd name them and pick the colours of their eyes and the colour of their bedrooms. Then he'd tell me he loves me, and squeeze me like if he'd let go, I'd disappear. Then we'd make 'Christmas Love'.

On Boxing Day, he'd wake me by tickling the back of my legs whilst softly kissing my nose. And watch me write a song for him, he'd make the melody on the guitar his grandfather helped him make as I wrote the lyrics that came to mind when I simply looked at him. Then I'd sing it to him, as he kissed the back of my neck, and massaged my sides with his magic touch.

Instead of lunch, we'd snuggle up in front of our crackling fire and read the Christmas letters and cards and eat the chocolates we brought. Then we'd lay under the tree, eating cookies, joking about the growth of a Christmas tree.

He would help me prepare dinner and we'd eat it in our room, feeding each other the foods we didn't like. Then we would watch the things he's filmed the previous day, and laugh at his best friend's jokes, and the funny things his little sister came out with.

Bedtime was slow on Boxing day. He had developed a nasty cough and it had both of us up all night. I had given him cough syrup and water, but it wouldn't ease at all. By three AM he was sweating profoundly, I was getting worried. I called his mother, and she suggested he'd take a hot shower so he did, with me watching carefully on the toilet. It seemed to calm down for the night after that, letting both of us get some shut eye.

The cough stayed with him for a couple of weeks. He would sweat at the table whilst eating breakfast, so I suggested having the air con on full. He didn't like the idea, neither did I but if it kept him cool, it would be done. So we tried that for a couple of days, but it done nothing. His cough started to get worse, and started to get breathless at times. He wouldn't let me take him to the doctors as he thought it was just a common cold, but I carried on telling him it was much more than a cold.

That night, he started complaining about a pressure in his chest. I started worrying as soon as he mentioned it, afraid that he was about to have a heart attack, so though the night I didn't sleep a wink. I stayed up, all night, watching him wheeze as he breathed slowly.

As weeks went by, I noticed that he'd started to loose weight, so I demanded he'd go to see a doctor about it. So with much reluctance on his part, we made our way to the Doctors. I watched as he replayed the symptoms to Dr. Good-fellow, as he checked him over. I held his hand as he had blood taken and then we were sent home, for another night of painful coughing and large amounts of sweat.

A couple weeks went by. He received a letter from his GP, asking him to go straight to the hospital, and relay what he'd told him, because he feared the worse. So off we went. At the hospital, he went through a physical examination, an X-Ray of his chest and a CT scan. After that we got sent home again.

Later that night, whilst we were watching TV together, we received a call from His doctor. He asked if He had been exposed to asbestos. He said he had. When he was little, his father had removed a panel from his room, because it was asbestos and his father obviously didn't clean up to well. His doctor asked how long ago that was, and he replied, around fifteen years ago. Then he asked what was going on, when he got told to make his way to the hospital immediately.

When we arrived, they took him into a room, to talk. When he came out, he looked at me, and hugged the life out of me, scaring me to death.

He had been diagnosed with mesothelioma.

* * *

_mesothelioma is a tumor that develops on the thin membrane that lines the chest and the abdomen. The most common cell type of mespthelioma is **epithelial. **I didn't expect this chapter to come out this way, i wanted it to develop as a dream, but i don't know what came over me, my fingers wouldn't stop, and i can't even remember thinking of any of this lol._


End file.
